


Forsythia and the Christmas Rose

by cassbutt_67



Series: To Speak the Language of Flowers [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable, Barista Castiel, Charming Dean, Coffee, Corny, Cute, Destiel - Freeform, Florist Dean, Flowers, Fluff, Language of Flowers, M/M, Shy Castiel, Slow Build, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassbutt_67/pseuds/cassbutt_67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has always had an aptitude for charming people. But Ellen's newest employee is, for some reason, flustering him. Maybe it's time he admitted to himself that he's attracted to this guy. Maybe it's time he actually did something about it. And, as Bobby points out, he's got an entire flower shop at his disposal. But is the idea sprouting in his mind too corny? He'll just have to give it a go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forsythia and the Christmas Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this part is more from Dean's perspective in terms of the flower-finding. The next installment to the series will be much more exciting than the first two (spoiler: they FINALLY talk in person). I might be posting that later today or sometime tomorrow. Stay tuned! And please comment/ kudos if you like it or have any constructive criticism :)
> 
> Inspired by the novel "The Language of Flowers" by Vanessa Diffenbaugh  
> Reference for flower meanings: http://www.victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html
> 
> *Disclaimer, I do not own any characters of Supernatural but the storyline is my own.

Dean awoke with a start to the sound of his blaring alarm clock. Groaning sleepily, he shut off the alarm and inhaled deeply before rolling out of bed. It was Tuesday, which meant he had to be to work early. He really didn’t mind, but shipments came in every other Tuesday and those were always stressful days. Dean Winchester owned a flower shop in the middle of the city and he had recently begun catering to a limited number of small weddings each month. This meant all of the orders had to be just right, and this did not always go smoothly.

 

Mentally preparing himself, he hopped in the shower and brushed his teeth, put on some black jeans and a button-up shirt as he took the keys off the kitchen counter and headed out the door. He started the engine and smiled as it roared to life; he had finished repairing the Impala a few months previously but he never tired of hearing that sound. Driving the three blocks to the shop took longer than one would think, what with all the traffic. But eventually, he made it and parked by the back entrance where a delivery truck was already waiting.

 

Thankfully, the delivery went smoothly and the day was going by without a hitch. Anna had showed up on time, thankfully, and customers began to file through by the time Amelia showed up to cover Dean while he took a lunch break. 

 

“I’ll be back in an hour,” he called over his shoulder as he removed his apron on his way out the door.

 

“Take your time, Dean,” Anna called from the register. “We’ve got you covered.”

 

He climbed into the Impala and drove down the street to Le Velo Rouge. Usually he was a big eater, which meant consuming more than just a bagel and a coffee at the bookstore’s coffee shop, Harvelle’s. But today was an exception. He occasionally indulged in the pastries Ellen’s shop had to offer, but he began frequenting the place more and more in the last few months. Try as he might to tell himself it had  _ nothing _ to do with the new guy at the register, he could deny it no longer.

 

He remembered Ellen telling him about this guy she interviewed back at the end of January, and he remembered Jo poking fun at him. 

 

“Seriously strange fella,” Ellen had said.

 

“Honestly I felt bad for him,” said Jo. “He was way too nervous for a freaking coffee shop interview.”

 

“Creepy weird or what?” Dean had asked.

 

“No, no nothing like that,” Ellen assured him. “Poor kid just seems to be having a hard time. I’m giving him the job.”

 

From the way they had described him, Dean was not prepared for the man he was faced with when he came into the café to meet the newest employee. “Strange” was not a word he would have used, more like  _ gorgeous _ . The guy couldn’t have been much younger than Dean himself, maybe a year or two. His eyes scanned over the man’s slightly dishevelled black hair and his athletic build. That day, he wore a t-shirt that was a little on the tight side, something Dean had always found attractive in men but even more so, it seemed, with this guy. And with the Harvell’s apron, a seemingly permanent look of determination, and hands folded neatly in front of him at the register, he was probably the most adorable person Dean had ever seen.

 

It wasn’t until he approached the register that he noticed the most striking aspect of this stranger: his eyes. They were blue, but unlike any blue Dean had come across in anyone’s eyes. He had no words to describe them, but he felt a little uneasy looking straight into them, as if they could see right through him.

 

“Can I help you sir?”  _ Good god even his voice is attractive _ , thought Dean. 

 

He gulped before flashing the man a quick smile, finding it difficult to string a sentence together. What was wrong with him? He’d charmed countless men and women in the past, this had never been an issue. Why now? Luckily, Ellen took this opportunity to come around the corner from the coffee machines and introduce them.

 

“Hey Dean,” she greeted, apparently unaware of how tongue-tied he was.

 

“Hey,” he managed. 

 

“Castiel, this is Dean Winchester, he’s like the son I never wanted.”

 

“Come on now,” Dean laughed. 

 

“Dean, this is Castiel, the new guy I told you about.”

 

Castiel stuck out his hand and Dean shook it firmly. “Pleasure to meet you, Dean,” he said. Dean’s heart actually fluttered hearing the rumbling voice say his name.

 

“Likewise, Cas.” 

 

And that was pretty much it. They had been on friendly enough terms, greeted each other by name in the coffee shop, but that was all. After their conversation, Ellen had noticed Dean’s uncharacteristic awkwardness. 

 

“So,” she had said a few nights after their meeting.

 

“So?” Dean sipped his beer. They were sitting at a local bar owned by Ellen’s husband, Bobby. 

 

“So when are you going to ask out Castiel?” 

 

Dean coughed a little, scrunching his face. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You know what I’m talking about. I saw you Dean Winchester. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so flustered in all my life!”

 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh come on Ellen. I just met the guy how could I be into him?”

 

“You tell me,” she shrugged. “But I’m telling you, he could probably use a friend at least. Kid’s got nobody from what I can tell.”

 

Months later, in early April, Dean was the one to approach the subject again. “I think I should say something to him,” he said to Jo and Bobby one night while playing pool at the bar.

 

“No shit, Sherlock,” said Jo, taking aim at the cue ball. “What have we been telling you?”

 

“Jo’s right, boy,” Bobby piped in. “I haven’t met this guy but every time you go in that coffee shop you make a point of talkin’ about him.”

 

Dean bit his lip, sighing. “I know. It’s just...after everything that happened before…”

 

“Forget about her, Dean,” said Jo. “You can do so much better. And this Cas guy has nobody, you heard mom. What have you got to lose?”

 

“Fine, but I need to do it right,” he concluded. “He’s really shy, I don’t want to scare him off.”

 

“Dean, you’re a florist,” Bobby pointed out. “You’ve got all the material you need to ‘do it right’.”

 

Well, he couldn’t argue with that.

 

***

 

After giving it a fair bit of thought, Dean decided he was going to do it. The corniest, sappiest thing he had ever done in his life. He’d heard of others doing it while he was at university, and he’d always scoffed at them. He had always thought, “Christ, even horticulturists shouldn’t be this sappy.” But here he was. A horticulturist attempting to be romantic. He was going to use the so-called “language of flowers” to ask Cas on a date.

 

Now, as he parked in front of the bookstore, he felt nervous. What if this didn’t go according to plan? He ultimately decided to go inside, order some food, and maybe come back later with the flower. He felt silly doing this, and maybe even a bit cowardly, but he thought returning when Cas wasn’t there would be his best shot. So after he got off work, he went back to Harvelle’s and swiftly placed the note with the flower at the pickup desk while Castiel was facing away from him. He’d chosen Venus’ looking glass, a flower that simply meant “flattery”. He wasn’t sure Cas would get it, but he was crossing his fingers. 

 

Not three days later, as he stood behind the counter at the flower shop, he saw the serious-faced man come through the door, sporting a beige trenchcoat.

 

“Hey, Cas,” he tried to sound casual. What was he doing here? Did he know? Was he upset?

 

“Oh hello, Dean,” he sounded surprised as he came up to the counter. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

 

“Yeah, I own the place actually.” Why couldn’t he stop smiling? God he must look like an idiot.

 

“Ah, I see. Well, I’m looking for some flowers. Specific ones.”

 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. “What’d you have in mind?”

 

“A Christmas rose and forsythia. But I only need one rose. And just a branch of the forsythia.”

 

_ Huh _ , Dean thought.  _ That’s interesting… _ “Alright, let me see what I can do.”

 

He headed into the back, where the walk-in cooler was situated. He came back with the flower clippings and set them on the counter. “There ya go,” he said.

 

“Perfect,” Castiel replied. “How much--?”

 

Dean shook his head, waving a hand at him. “Nah, don’t worry about it.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah, it’s no trouble. They’re small.” 

 

“Alright, well, thank you Dean.”

 

“No problem, Cas.”

 

And with that, he was gone.

 

By the end of the day, the anticipation was killing him. Dean drove to the coffee shop just before closing to find, to his disappointment,  that Cas wasn’t working. However, there was a small slip of paper and what looked to be white petals poking out from behind the napkin dispenser. 

 

Jo eyed him expectantly from behind the register. “I know it was you,” she said. “Very romantic. That one’s yours.” She indicated the napkin dispenser. 

 

Dean nodded, biting back a smile as he picked up the note. It read: you know who you are; for you, a Christmas rose and forsythia. Dean thought to himself, “relieve my anxiety” and “anticipation”. So he had made the man nervous after all, but not enough to scare him away. Now Dean had to decide how he would respond. Yeah, this was definitely the corniest thing he’d ever done, but maybe he was okay with that.


End file.
